Synagogues360

Thursday, February 16, 2017

With all of the media-hype about the Super Bowl earlier this month I cannot help remembering our trip to Green Bay, Wisconsin last August. Unlike most visitors to Green Bay, who come to watch the fabled Green Bay Packers, we were there to photograph Synagogue Cnesses Israel. Green Bay is a football crazy city of 104,000 hardy souls with an 80,000 seat stadium. I label them hardy because they’ve got to be to sit in frigid Wisconsin winter weather watching some guys push each other around for possession of a pointy shaped non-kosher (pigskin) ball.

Cnesses Israel Synagogue

Our first hint of the city’s total football focus came as we drove to our hotel on Vince Lombardi Avenue, which we reached by winding through a network of streets named after Green Bay Packers Hall of Famers. Even though I’m much more interested in synagogue photography than football, it was fascinating to see a city whose identity is so caught up in a single pursuit. The Packers are the last vestige of "small town teams" common in the NFL during the 1920s and '30s. Every other big league professional sports team is based in a major metro area with millions of fans. The Packers are the only non-profit, community-owned major league professional sports team based in the United States. Even the rabbi, a transplanted Okie gal, has a share of Packers stock.

The Original Home of the Packersjust 2 blocks from the synagogue

Only two blocks from the synagogue, we passed City Stadium. Now a high school football venue, it was prominently labeled as the original home field of the Packers. When I commented upon this proximity to the rabbi’s husband, he offered that although it was relatively unknown, Jews had figured importantly in the early history of the Green Bay Packers. In fact, he said, “It was two Jewish guys from Green Bay who saved the team from financial collapse.”

Here’s the story: Green Bay was a meat packing center and Great Lakes shipping port. It was a tough, brawling, red necked, blue collar town with many anti-Semitic eastern European immigrants. While World War I was raging in Europe, high school football was becoming the rage here at home. Izzy and Nate Abrams, sons of Jewish merchant Sam Abrams, along with Earl “Curly” Lambeau were among the best players. Nate liked iron as well as gridiron. Rather than attend college, he opened his own scrap iron business and prospered, all the while playing football for the Skidoos, a local team. In fact, Nate called the 1919 organizational meeting for the Packers in the Green Bay Press-Gazette office where the Skidoos had previously met. Abrams passed captaincy of the team to his old high school teammate Lambeau because he was the more popular (non-Jewish) player.

Nate, along with Charlie Sauber, another Jewish player, played for the Packers from 1919 until the early 1920s. In 1921, the Packers joined the professional league that would become the NFL. Abrams played in one game, scoring a touchdown on an interception. This big time pro league had big players too. Probably too big for compact Nate, which likely explains why he didn’t play again. Nevertheless, Nate remained very interested in the team. In 1922, when Nate heard that the team was financially foundering, he handed Lambeau $3,000 (equivalent to $35,000 today) for operating expenses. In exchange, Lambeau ceded ownership of the franchise to his friend. But Abrams, due to anti-Semitic sentiment, stayed in the background letting Lambeau operate the Packers. A little over a year later, with classic Jewish creativity, Abrams began the unique system of selling stock in the franchise to the public and by 1925 his loan had been repaid.

Nate Abrams in center wearing Acme Packers shirt

While Nate Abrams figured as importantly as Curly Lambeau in the birth and history of the Packers, he has been ignored in Packers lore. Two Jews are honored with plaques at the Green Bay Packers Hall of Fame at Lambeau Field: Charles “Buckets” Goldenberg, who played from 1933 to 1945 and former general manager Ron Wolf, a member of Cnesses Israel, who led the team to an NFL championship in 1966. In his book “The Lambeau Years” (1987, Angel Press of Wisconsin), Larry Names deals with the fact that Abrams is treated as a negligible afterthought in Packers history. Names wrote that due to the prevalent anti-Semitic attitudes, the team emphasized Lambeau’s role and minimized Abrams. All of this was with Nate’s acquiescence. His primary goal was the best interest of the team.

The 120 family Jewish population of Green Bay was near its peak in 1904 when it dedicated Anshe Keneseth Israel, the city’s first synagogue. Back then, the congregation was Orthodox, but morphed to Conservative when it adopted the name Cnesses Israel and moved to its new mid-century modern building near City Field in 1951. Nowadays, the synagogue has about 85 member families and describes itself as being fiercely Egalitarian Reservadox because they are a mixed congregation: a few Reform, a few Orthodox, mainly Conservative.

It’s a Cnesses Israel tradition that when the Packers make it to the Super Bowl, there is no Sunday School!

Monday, February 29, 2016

Our canine companion, Harley, travels with us everywhere we
go in North America. She has visited more states than most people and, because
she has visited over 100 synagogues, we call her our synadog. She is a
Shiba-Inu, a Japanese breed that is one of the six earliest canine breeds,
descended directly from the wolf. At 23 lbs. Harley is exactly breed standard.

A sane person might ask why would people who travel a great
deal add a dog to their travelling equipment. Further complicating our travels
is the fact that Harley is highly allergic. She therefore eats a special diet
which must be kept frozen. To supply her frozen cuisine we carry a large cooler
in the back of our car and re-stock the cooler with dry-ice two or three times
per week.

How did Harley the synagdog enter our lives? Harley was one of several dogs owned by our
daughter, Jill, who lives in California. One day while we were photographing a
synagogue in Italy we received a phone call from her. In a distressed voice she
told us that Harley was in the hospital with 14 stitches and a concussion after
being on the losing end of a fight for dominance with one of our daughter’s
other dogs, a 90 lbs. Rottweiler-Mastiff mix. Clearly the two dogs could not
live in the same house any longer. Jill asked, would we adopt Harley? Understanding
that our mobile lifestyle would not readily accommodate a dog, Jill said that
if we would take Harley, she would have Harley trained as a service dog so that
she could stay in hotels, visit restaurants and fly on airplanes. What’s a
Jewish parent to do? We said yes. After her training Harley adopted us and
launched her new career as Harley Davidson the synadog.

Sherith Israel of San Francisco

Harley raced to the bimah

Her first visit to a synagogue was at huge and imposing
Congregation Sherith Israel of San Francisco. The executive director said that
dogs were allowed in the sanctuary. I began setting up my equipment and Ronnie
began taking a few photos of the decorative details. Somehow Harley slipped off
her leash and went rocketing to the bema. We were abashed. She was standing
right in front of the ark in this awesome synagogue. When the executive
director spoke we were sure it would be to ask us to leave. But, instead she
said “No, problem. Harley must smell the Rabbi’s dog. He brings it to all the
services.” And indeed, there was no
problem. After checking the area for whatever dogs check for, Harley chose an
out-of-the way corner for a good snooze.

Congregation Sherith Israel is one of the oldest west of the
Mississippi. in September of 1849, some months after the discovery of gold in
California, a small group of Jewish pioneers began meeting in a wood-framed
tent. Without a rabbi or Torah scrolls, the first Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur
were celebrated in the San Francisco. This band of Jews came from Prussia,
Bavaria, England, France and the eastern United States. They met again to
celebrate Passover and the High Holy Days in 1850. By 1851 they had formed a
permanent congregation occupying a temporary home which was destroyed in the
famous San Francisco fire of 1851. The
current byzantine-revivalist style 1400 seat building was completed in 1904. Its
magnificent Murray Harris organ is recognized as an historic treasure of
American organ building.

Poile Zedek of New Brunswick, NJ

For almost four years Harley has traveled with us on our
synagogue photo-safaris in the USA and Canada. She has made good friends in more
than 100 synagogues where the staff are always sorry to see her go. In only
three instances, all involving grumpy old men of foreign extraction, we ran
into problems. A case in point is Poile
Zedek of New Brunswick, New Jersey which was established in the early 20th
century by immigrants from Russia and Poland. The well preserved building has a
wonderful old-world charm. The three of us (Ronnie, Harley and I) were ushered
into the building by the congregation’s president who then left so we could
take photographs. Photographic work
turned to fireworks when an irascible Russian began to berate us for having a
dog in the building. To no avail, we explained that Harley the synadog’s presence
was approved by both the rabbi and congregation’s president. Admittedly, my
Yiddish is weak to non-existent. However, I believe the word tsimmes is used to
describe such situations. Vladimir Putin was not the recipient of such harsh
rhetoric when he took Crimea and invaded Ukraine.

Harley regards a Hebrew Primer

Just this last July we photographed Temple of Aaron in St.
Paul, Minnesota, designed by Percival Goodman. Temple Aaron is not just a
building. It’s a whole campus of interconnected buildings including a day
school, sanctuary, chapel, multi-purpose rooms, social hall, Judaica museum, kitchen
and offices all gracefully resplendent upon a generous grassy lawn facing the Mississippi
River. We were shown around the complex by the executive director who explained
that he would leave us alone in the building to do the photo-shoot. We should
simply make sure the doors were locked on our way out. He had an appointment
elsewhere and the staff had left early as it was Friday afternoon.Ronnie roamed the building photographing architectural
details and artwork while I photographed the gorgeous sanctuary. When my work
was complete I went to look for Ronnie and Harley. As I left the sanctuary I
found the labyrinthine building complex dark. The building super had turned off
the lights. Wandering in this sparsely lit maze I eventually bumped into my
spouse but Harley wasn’t with her. The stealthy synadog had taken advantage of
Ronnie’s concentration on shooting photos and sneaked away. We panicked. How do
you find a dog in a huge, virtually unlit building complex? A moment’s thought
and the answer became obvious: you head for the kitchen. We did, and there she
was, enjoying all the wonderful aromas of Jewish cooking.

If all of this sounds a little over-the-top, just read “How
to Raise a Jewish Dog” by the Rabbis of Boca Raton Theological Seminary. We
won’t seem so crazy in comparison.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

There’s more to Philadelphia than cream cheese and a big
cracked bell. There are wonderful synagogues and fabulous shoestring potatoes
too. After learning in
grade school about Benjamin Franklin, the Liberty Bell and the miserable winter
Washington’s troops endured at nearby Valley Forge, few of us think much about
Philadelphia. Yet, it is our nation’s fifth largest city. Sandwiched among much
higher profile cities like Washington, New York City and Boston, Philadelphia
tends to be overlooked.

When I began planning last summer’s east coast synagogue
photo-safari, I was amazed to learn that Philadelphia’s Jewish population is
the third largest in the USA. It has the most synagogues per-capita, and 47
kosher restaurants. That last statistic
is vitally important for us synagogue photographers because schlepping heavy
camera gear up innumerable narrow steps to the women’s gallery creates an
urgent desire for a corned beef sandwich.

A trip to Philadelphia for the Jewish tourist is a veritable
bonanza. There’s Independence Mall, part of the Independence National Historic
Park, which includes historically significant buildings such as the original Continental
Congress Hall, Independence Hall and the Old City Hall as well as the Liberty
Bell. Adjacent to the Mall you’ll find the National Museum of American Jewish
History, which in itself is worth the trip to Philly. This four story museum offers
a unique view of the Jewish experience in the United States. Its exhibits begin with the first Jewish
settlers in 1654 and continue to the present day.

The neighborhood surrounding the Museum of American Jewish
History and Independence Mall is a mish-mash of brick and stone colonial-era
townhouse buildings, peppered with newer structures and verdant squares where
once our forefathers and foremothers strolled. Doing some strolling of our own through
this warren of galleries, antique shops, boutiques and cafes, we happened upon
Elfreth’s Alley, our nation’s oldest residential street, dating to 1702. There
are 32 houses on “the Alley” built between 1728 and 1836.

Congregation B'nai Abraham AKA The Philly Shul

In an adjacent neighborhood, comprised of small-scale
Georgian red brick buildings, there’s the Philly Shul, formally named
Congregation B’nai Abraham. Although
there are several synagogues in the immediate area, we elected to
photographically document this one as it is the oldest building in Philadelphia
that was built as a synagogue and has been in continuous use as such. Founded in 1874 by Lithuanian and Russian Jews
fleeing Czar Alexander II, the Byzantine structure was built exclusively by
Jewish workmen. Just try and find a 100% Jewish construction crew nowadays. The Philly Shul’s eclectic design combines
Doric columns, Mogen David patterned windows and Byzantine themes. With my tripod and camera gear, I was a
one-man traffic hazard as I photographed this incongruously large building from
the middle of the narrow 300 hundred year old street.

While the immediate area around Independence Mall is primarily
colonial era, the surrounding neighborhoods are a rich ethnic mix, each
reflecting the culture of the immigrants who settled there. South Philly was
mostly Italian and Jewish. By 1910, “Russian-born Jews were the largest ethnic
group,” according to Murray Dubin’s book,
South Philadelphia. “By 1930, Jews seemed to have synagogues on every corner,”
wrote Dubin.

Congregation Shivtei Yeshuron Ezras Israel (known as the
Little Shul), founded in 1876, occupies a rebuilt colonial row house. A century ago there were 155 small synagogues
like it dotting the streets of this neighborhood of immigrants. Now, the Little Shul is the last operating
row-house shul in South Philly.

Congregation Shivtei Yeshuron Ezras IsraelAKA The Little Shul

The Little Shul stands out from the other row homes on the
block because of its pillared entrance. Inside, the walls and ceiling are made
of pressed tin and adorned with tapestries, memorial boards and shelves of
Hebrew artifacts and relics. This is a gemutlich hangout for a few elderly
Jewish men who haven’t followed their children to the suburbs where their
grandchildren loiter over lattes at Starbucks.

Interior of the Little Shul

To the north of the Mall, only a ten minute drive from the
Little Shul, stands monumental Congregation Rodeph Shalom. Founded in 1795, Rodeph Shalom is the oldest
Ashkenazi congregation in the Western Hemisphere. Its amazing Byzantine-Moorish design was
inspired by the Great Synagogue of Florence, Italy. Lavishly decorated with hand-stenciled walls,
stained glass and a starburst dome light by D’Ascenzo Studio, it received the
Pennsylvania Historic Preservation Award in 2006 and entered into the National
Register of Historic Places a year later. Verbal superlatives don’t do the
building justice.

No visit to Jewish Philadelphia would be complete without a
pilgrimage to suburban Elkins Park where you will be awestruck by Beth Sholom,
the only synagogue ever designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

Philadelphia is a perfect destination for the Jewish
tourist. It offers an amazing variety of synagogues to ogle, the great cultural
experience of the National Museum of American Jewish History and mouthwatering
kosher restaurants with dishes that would make your grandmother throw away her
strudel pan. All of this in a city that
is so much more accessible and less expensive than New York or Boston.

Friday, February 20, 2015

Continue on, my friends, and take heed – a true tale of
tefillin and Paris to read. I hope to enlighten and perhaps entertain with this
story which takes place near the River Seine.

Splendid interior of Pavée Synagogue.

Art Nouveau is a grand and romantic design style found in
art, architecture and the decorative arts. With its sweeping flourishes and
themes taken from flowers and nature, it bridged the gap between ornately curly-cued
Victorian and the stern geometry of Art Deco. Art Nouveau’s popularity was at
its height during the Belle Époque in the late 1800s and early 1900s and is
nowhere better seen than in Paris.

To my knowledge there are only two synagogues that were
built in the Art Nouveau style. One, in Subotica, Serbia, we photographed in
2010. The other, on Rue Pavée in Paris’ Marais district, had remained elusive.
The Agoudas Hakehilos Synagogue, popularly known as the Pavée Synagogue, was
designed by none other than Hector Guimard, who was one of the greatest Art Nouveau
architects, and certainly one of the most productive. His accomplishments
include the iconic Paris Metro station entrances as well as numerous magnificent
buildings.

The Pavéeis squeezed into a difficult site.

Around the turn of
the century there was a great migration of Jews from Russia and Eastern Europe
to the west. Many settled in Paris. By 1913, Agoudas Hakehilos (Union of Communities),
a group of nine small Orthodox Jewish congregations of primarily Russian and
Polish origin, acquired a very narrow parcel of land at 10 rue Pavée. In a grand
gesture to create their new synagogue in the esthetic vocabulary of their new
homeland, they asked Hector Guimard to design their building. Guimard, who was
not Jewish, had never before designed a building with a religious purpose. The
size limitations of the site made the project even more difficult. It is
believed he took on this challenging assignment as a favor to his Jewish wife.

Last February, as part of my preparation for an October
visit to Paris, I began attempting to obtain permission to photograph the Pavée
Synagogue. My initial emails went unanswered. Thinking there might be a
language barrier (I’m hopelessly monolingual), I had a French-fluent friend send
emails. No answer, nada, zip. It was time to call in some favors. I asked for
help from the European Jewish Community organization, which has used many of my
synagogue photos in their books and publications. They put me in touch with
people in high positions in the Paris Jewish Community. Amazingly, these highly
positioned people only led to a highly confusing labyrinth of other contacts
which were ultimately time consuming dead ends. I’d never even seen a photo of
the interior of the Pavée, and as I became lost in this bureaucratic web spun
by masters of evasion, I understood why.

A month before my arrival in Paris I had occasion to visit
with a professional videographer who had made arrangements to film a television
documentary about the Pavée synagogue. She said that although she had
permission, when she arrived at the building with her filming crew, she was
denied entrance. It became clear that
whatever they were hiding in there, I wasn’t going to get to take pictures of
it.

Fast forward nine months to October in Paris. Though I had
given up on any possibility of photographing the Pavée, my wife and I ventured
to the gemutlich Marais district to enjoy a good Jewish lunch. The narrow
streets of the Marais are lined with Jewish restaurants, bookstores, art
galleries and purveyors of all things Judaic. Chasidic rabbis roam the streets
inviting Jewish tourists to join them in prayer or visit their prayer rooms. I
was approached by a red-bearded enthusiastic young rabbi, who invited us to see
his prayer room. Through a doorway, along a dark passage, up a narrow staircase
and we were there. If this sounds like a setup for a mugging, it wasn’t.

The Rabbi invited us to see his prayer room.

“Would you like to put on tefillin?” he asked. “I don’t know
how,” I replied. “It will strengthen your bond with G-d and give your prayers
more power. Here, I’ll help you”, he answered. I wasn’t sure that this was a
good idea, but the young rabbi was so sincere and charming that I didn’t want
to disappoint. In seconds he had me wrapped in tefillin, following him in some
basic prayers. After unwrapping, we strolled over to the Pavée synagogue just
to see it, with no thought of photography. I wasn’t even carrying my 70 lbs of
camera gear.

The door to the Pavée was locked. As we stood looking at the
exterior, the locked door opened to admit a person who evidently was part of
the inner cabal. Not one to dally, my wife slipped in behind him and I
followed. We were promptly told to leave. Just as promptly, my spouse put on
the charm and asked if we could just take a look … we’d come all the way from
Oklahoma, after all. Grudgingly, we were allowed to go up to the women’s
balcony and take a quick look; under no circumstances were we to enter the main
sanctuary.

Upstairs, we saw a stern, bearded, black-garbed rabbi entering
a room adjacent to the balcony. I approached him and explained that I had been
trying unsuccessfully to arrange photographic permission for nearly 10 months,
that my cause was worthy and my objectives noble. He gave me the telephone
number of the congregation’s president who, he said, was the only person who
could authorize my photographic incursion into their inner sanctum.

When we reached the entrance lobby I dialed the number he
had given me. It didn’t work. A cordial Chasid Shamash overheard my
frustration. He looked at the number I was dialing and said, “You’ve been given
the wrong number. Those guys upstairs do that.” Dialing my mobile phone, in a
moment he had me connected to the congregation President. I felt like the Tin
Man in the Wizard of Oz, who, after a host of obstacles, was finally talking to
the Wizard. Overcoming my discouragement, I explained my desire to
photographically document the Pavée for posterity. And “Voila!”, as they say in
France, he agreed!

Art Nouveau details in the Pavée's interior.

We now have what may be the only documentary photos of the
interior of this unique Art Nouveau synagogue. Is this tefillin power or what?
You tell me.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Perhaps the most magnificent example of Baroque synagogue architecture in existence.

When you hear the word Hanukkah, what’s the first place that comes to mind, the Second Temple in Jerusalem? Even if you think of a place other than the site of the Maccabean Revolt, it’s a good bet that your answer won’t be Italy. Yet, in the town of Casale Monferrato, Italy there is a museum devoted solely to menorahs, displaying what is probably the finest collection of contemporary menorahs in the world. This little known gem occupies the cellar and former matzoth bakery beneath the ancient synagogue of Casale Monferrato, a town of about thirty six thousand people in Italy’s Piedmont district, only a short drive from Turin.

The first traces of Jews in Casale date from 1492, the year of the great expulsion from Spain. Although the Monferrato area was beset by many wars, Jews lived there peacefully under the Dukes of Mantua and other regimes into the eighteenth century. Compared to the Jewish experience in much of Europe, theirs was a life of relative security and ease. However they were subject to special taxes and required to wear a distinctive yellow arm band. By 1599 premises were leased in the Jewish Ghetto for a synagogue and shortly thereafter a contiguous house was entrusted to a Jewish caretaker and a public oven for matzoth was built in a nearby courtyard.

The unobtrusive entrance to the amazing synagogue.

An unobtrusive door on the synagogue’s anonymous exterior leads into an idyllic, arcaded courtyard. Another simple door from the courtyard opens into the synagogue’s sanctuary, one of the most magnificent examples of baroque architecture and décor that exists. Over the centuries the sanctuary has been enlarged, re-arranged and redecorated many times. You can see this incredible baroque synagogue in virtual-reality online at Synagogues360.org.

When the gates to the ghetto were eliminated in 1848 the Jewish population of Casale was 850. In 1853, after the emancipation of Italy’s Jews by Napoleon, the synagogue was further embellished and restored. During the following years the city’s Jewish population declined as many recently emancipated Jews chose to migrate to larger population centers such as Turin and Milan. By 1931 there were still 112 Jewish community members while today there are only 7.

In the autumn of 1994, planning began for celebration of the synagogue’s 400th anniversary. A group of art lovers and experts decided that the synagogue’s fine collection of Chanukkiot should be expanded to become a world class tourist attraction. Thus began a collection of contemporary art Chanukkiot produced by renown international artists. To describe this collection as beautiful, amazing, fascinating, fabulous or unique is simply inadequate. A visit to Casale Monferrato’s Museum of Lights is a truly memorable experience. You can see and learn more about the Museum of Lights online at Casale Monferatto Jewish Community Website.

Detail of Ark

Unlike much of Europe, Italy has treasured and maintained its historic Jewish buildings. Thus, a visit to the Jewish sights and sites of Italy is an exceptional art, architecture and cultural experience. There are numerous comprehensive guided tours focusing on Jewish Italy or you can simply do it yourself with the help of such books as “The Guide to Jewish Italy” by Annie Sacerdoti. Just fly into Milan, rent a car with a GPS and start by heading for the incredible synagogue of Casale Monferrato and the Museum of Lights.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

After a delightful lunch in one of the many sidewalk cafés surrounding
Lisbon’s Rossio Square, we went to our photo-shoot appointment at the city’s
only synagogue. Our appetites for the grilled fish entre were a bit dampened by
the knowledge that in 1544, as Portugal’s Inquisition got into full swing,
there had been an auto-da-fé in this very square, the site of our leisurely
repast. Auto-da-fé is a sanitized term for public burnings, where good citizens
jeer, cheer, and zealously participate in slicing, dicing and stealing as their
victims scream and burn to death. In a series of such public spectacles, about
1200 of Portugal’s Jews were burned at the stake. Until that time Portugal had
been a relatively safe harbor for Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition which
had been going on for a little over fifty years.

To avoid this excruciating death, many Jews and Muslims,
known as conversos, converted to Catholicism. However, conversion did not
always prove to be a safe haven. Many conversos were subjected to horrendous
tortures or life-long service as galley rowing slaves.

Another misery inflicted upon Portugal’s Jews was the state
orchestrated mass kidnapping of Jewish children who were sent to work as slaves
in the equatorial African islands of Sao Tome and Principe. It wasn’t without
good cause. After all, labor was needed to work the sugar plantations of these
Portuguese outposts where a particularly virulent strain of Malaria cut life
expectancies to only a few years.

Lisbon's Grand Synagogue faces a courtyard

In 1821, the Marquis of Pombal halted the Inquisition and
Jews were invited back to Portugal so that the country could benefit from their
acumen as businessmen, scientists and doctors.
In anticipation of a congregation of many hundreds, Lisbon’s Grand
Synagogue was completed in 1904.

Interior of Grand Synagogue

Today, the Lisbon Jewish community numbers only about three
hundred, having reached its peak during the World War II years when neutral
Portugal was a gateway out of Europe. The synagogue was the first to be built
since the late 15th century. Its main façade faces an inner
courtyard since Portuguese law at the time forbade non-Catholic religious
buildings from facing the street.

Our Lisbon photographic work completed, we went to the
airport to pick up our prearranged lease car. At building 125, we met the
cheery Peugeot representative. Following him, we dragged all of our luggage and
photo-gear to a labyrinthine underground car park to retrieve our vehicle. Because
Europeans are thrifty and eco-conscious this huge catacomb like parking area was
nearly unlit. Stumbling along with our many bags, we eventually came to a car
that was alleged to be ours. Who could tell in the dark? We were asked to sign
a sheaf of documents which the Peugeot representative kindly attempted to
illuminate with his almost exhausted pen-sized flashlight. Truly, it was so
dark I have no idea what I signed, except I needed that car even if I was
agreeing in writing to send my first born to Sao Tome to work the sugar
plantations.

After the signing, the fun began. Imagine being acquainted
in the dark with a new French car by a man who mostly speaks Portuguese. Standard
shift just added to the challenges. After 10 minutes of misunderstanding the
gentleman’s heavily accented miss-explanations we took our copies of the
slavery contracts I had signed and backed the car out of its ridiculously
narrow slot. Being a new model car, it was fitted with warning beepers that
hooted and beeped if we got too near anything. The parking slot was so narrow
that as soon as I began backing the vehicle, it erupted with a cacophony of hooting,
beeping and flashing warning lights. I was stressed to the max by this
pyrotechnic display in the near dark where structural columns and parked cars
lurked in close proximity as I eased out the clutch. You do remember clutches
don’t you? Proud that I hadn’t hit anything, we were finally out of the catacombs.

Interior of ancient Tomar Synagogue

An hour and a half later we arrived in the town of Tomar
which has an authentically preserved medieval quarter replete with tiny,
cobblestone streets zigzagging between ancient stone buildings. The vice-mayor
had arranged for two smiling docents to meet us at Tomar’s old synagogue that
dates from the mid-15th century.
As there are only two Jewish people now residing in Tomar, (one was our
docent), the synagogue, a truly interesting Museum of Jewish Culture, is
maintained by the city. Since the
expulsion and forced conversions of Portuguese Jews in 1496, the synagogue has
served such diverse functions as a prison, church, grocery warehouse and
hayloft.

View of arched Tomar Synagogue ceiling

Fronting on a narrow street in Tomar’s ancient Juderia, or
Jewish ghetto, the small synagogue is a square shaped room with three short
aisles defined by four central columns supporting Gothic vaulting. The four
pillars are said to symbolize the four matriarchs of the Torah – Sarah,
Rebekah, Leah and Rachel – who are recognized as co-founders of Israel, in
equal stature to their more renowned husbands, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The
twelve arches supported by the four columns symbolize the twelve tribes of Israel.

A two hour drive north from Tomar brought us to Porto, the
city made famous as the source for the delicious, sweet alcoholic beverage,
Port. Just as intoxicating, for those infatuated by architectural delicacies,
is the city’s remarkable and unique Art-Deco style synagogue. There are very
few religious buildings of any kind in the Art-Deco aesthetic. In detail as
well as overall form and concept, this one is a true gem.

Porto's Art-Deco Synagogue

The Porto Synagogue’s story began in the 1920s when there
were approximately twenty Ashkenazi Jews in the city. A Portuguese army
officer, Captain Artur Barros Basto, who learned at the bedside of his dying
grandfather that his family were actually conversos, decided to take up the
faith of his Jewish ancestors.

By 1929, Barros Basto had raised funds to buy a plot
of land. Work progressed slowly due to limited finances until 1933, when Laura
Kadoorie, the wife of Sir Elly Kadoorie, a Portuguese-born Jewish
philanthropist living in Britain, died. Laura was a descendant of Portuguese
Jews who fled that country’s inquisition centuries before. To honor their

mother, Laura’s children financially
supported completion of the Synagogue of Porto and it was renamed Synagogue
Kadoorie - Mekor Haim.

Art-Deco details of Porto Synagogue

A short visit to Portugal offers the tourist three wonderful
and diverse synagogues to ogle, delicious Port wine as well as delightful
Portuguese cuisine, culture and countryside. My suggestion, if you rent a car, is
be sure it’s delivered above ground.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Dusk was falling as our ship glided into Havana’s harbor.
From the deck I could see the twinkling lights of nightclubs and casinos
sprinkled along El Malecon, Havana’s gracefully arcing waterfront. They looked
like brilliant diamonds strung along a magnificent tropical necklace. It was New
Year’s eve, 1956. Fulgencio Batista was still the dictator. Fidel Castro had
not yet become known to the world. Havana was the Paris of the Caribbean, the
land of Ernest Hemingway, Meyer Lansky, Frank Sinatra and baseball. Seen
through the eyes of a teenage boy from Oklahoma, Cuba was heaven on earth: rum
flowed, music played and romance was everywhere. Our parents treated my sister
and me to a glittering and unforgettable evening at the Tropicana nightclub
that superlatives cannot adequately describe.

A year later, when I was in the 10th grade, my
geometry instructor was fresh from several years of teaching in Cuba. By then
Castro’s revolution was gaining momentum. However, Mr. McDermott confidently
assured us that “the upstart would never amount to anything.” Fortunately, I
used Mr. McDermott’s advice only for geometry because two years later, in 1959,
Castro became the dictator, imposing a strict socialist regimen on the
economy. As relations with the USA
chilled, travel to Cuba for United States citizens was forbidden. After many years and a bit of thawing, travel
is now permitted provided that the traveler obtains a license from the U.S.
State Department. Licenses are granted for special purposes such as
humanitarian and medical missions, not simply tourism.

Centro Sefaradi Synagogue, Havana

In 2011, fifty five years after my previous visit to Havana,
my wife and I decided to visit Cuba, photograph its synagogues and learn about
its Jewish community. A bit of internet research lead us to Miriam Saul, a
Cuban-born Jewish woman who resides in Atlanta, Georgia. For several years
Miriam had been leading small group tours from the USA to explore things Jewish
in Cuba. Miriam offers a turnkey service including proper licensing with the US
State Department as well as personally accompanying her tour groups. Wanting to
experience Cuba with an emphasis on its Jewish community, we found Miriam’s
small group approach to be the perfect answer.

Before 1959, Cuba’s Jewish population numbered approximately
20 thousand. But when Castro took power, nationalizing all personal property
and businesses, the island’s Jews could see the writing on the wall. They left
en masse: 90% fled to America and Israel. Of the remaining 10%, most are
elderly, or have died. The Jewish community now numbers approximately 1900. It
is racially diverse and mostly converts. The largest communities are, of
course, in Havana. In addition, a few very small communities, of 25 persons or
less, exist in other areas, such as Cienfuegos, Santa Clara and Santiago de
Cuba.

In Cuba we learned that the Jewish Community has a unique
problem: too many people want to convert to Judaism. Socialism provides a very low standard of
living for Cubans. One of the means of escaping the grinding poverty is
immigration to another country, but few will accept impoverished Cubans. Israel is the exception. It will accept Jewish
Cubans. To eliminate Jewish converts who mainly want to use Judaism as a
stepping stone to Israel, the requirements for conversion are understandably
rigorous.

In order to obtain a travel license from the State
Department, we had to be part of an approved mission. Ours was a medical
mission. Each person in our group purchased and carried to Cuba a suitcase full
of over-the-counter medicines and medical supplies which are in terribly short
supply in Cuba. We donated our supplies to the pharmacy in the Jewish Community
Center adjacent to Havana’s El Patronato Synagogue.

The Center is home to the local Jewish
federation and a pharmacy which dispenses its scarce medical supplies free of
charge to Jews, Gentiles and even the Havana General Hospital. These supplies
are mostly provided by Jewish visitors from other countries. Havana’s JCC
includes amenities which are rare in Cuba; online computers, plasma TV, library,
exercise and recreational equipment, pool tables. Approximately 160 students
attend the weekly religious school.

El Patronato Synagogue & Community Center

El Patronato synagogue was built
in 1953. It is a kitsch, 1950s cement structure with a large powder blue arch
that soars above the height of the building and across the front of the
building’s facade. Guests to the El
Patronato have included Steven Spielberg, Sean Penn, Fidel Castro as well as
yours truly. President Raul Castro lit the first Hanukkah candle of 2010 in
this synagogue. Although Castro’s
administration is agnostic, his grandmother is said to have been Jewish.

The Centro Sefaradi, pictured above in this blog, is one of three existing synagogues in Havana, the Centro
Sefardi Synagogue was constructed in the city’s Vedado neighborhood in
1950. This imposing Bauhaus style
concrete structure is now being re-purposed as a performance hall and a new synagogue
has been constructed adjacent to it.

Welcome

This blog shares stories related to the synagogues displayed at www.Synagogues360.org as well as experiences while photographing these architectural examples of Jewish heritage. Traveling the globe photographing synagogues for posterity is an enriching experience allowing us to visit many lands and see great examples of Jewish art and architecture. It is made possible by the wonderful staff and lay people who have opened their synagogues and hearts to us.

About the Photographer

Louis Davidson

An architect by education, now semi-retired, I travel extensively with my wife and dog photographing synagogues.